FEATURE: Nothing Simple About ‘Simple Person’ Mark Martin

Mark Martin insists he’s a simple man, and is often quite good at convincing people he is.

It is the only untrue thing that comes out of his mouth.

He doesn’t mislead anyone intentionally, though. Because at his core, he believes he is simple. After all, his priorities are clear: Martin loves racing and he loves his family.

And he loves to win.

He’d like everyone to believe that’s all that really matters, but there’s a lot more behind the creases and lines of his weathered face than he may be willing to admit.

This is the best time of Mark Martin’s life. And on a recent trip to a Darlington Raceway fan event, it became clear that aside from perhaps Hugh Hefner, few in the over-50 crowd are as happy as Martin.

After all, as Martin put it, “There are not many people in the world who get to do exactly what they want – and succeed at it.”

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The jockey-sized 51-year-old climbs from the jet he has just co-piloted from Florida and ambles over to shake hands with Darlington Raceway president Chris Browning, who is picking Martin up at the Florence (S.C.) Regional Airport.

From the backseat of an SUV (where he insists on sitting, letting others ride in the front), Martin discusses his passion for flying but said he doesn’t fly for fun, instead calling himself a “very, very enthusiastic business aviator.”

Martin and his family live in a fly-in community near Daytona Beach, and the freedom of being able to go wherever they want, whenever they want, he says, is “like being a grown-up but having the feeling of your parents handing you the car keys.”

In order to maintain a license, pilots must go through intensive training – and Martin is no exception. He casually details the minor malfunctions that sometimes occur during flights, but says he hasn’t had any major scares. What scares him the most, he says, are the high altitude storms that can do serious damage.

But Martin has every reason not to be a pilot – or fly at all. His father, stepmother and half-sister were killed in a plane crash in 1998. He could have easily given up flying then and opted to travel via fancy motorcoach to the races, and no one could have blamed him for pulling a John Madden.

He didn’t, though.

“There’s a sense of pride in doing it right,” he says of flying, and the same could be said for his approach to racing. “I plan on burning jet fuel as long as I have a license.”

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The SUV pulls up to the back of the Florence Civic Center, where fans have lined up for hours to get a prime seat for a 60-minute question-and-answer session with their hero. Martin may never have gained the crossover appeal that resonates with mainstream sports fans, but to longtime NASCAR fans, he is a living legend.

Martin was named to the list of NASCAR’s 50 Greatest Drivers – 12 years ago. His stature in the sport has only grown since then.

He has 40 Cup victories, and his 48 wins in the Nationwide Series are the most in series history. He has no championships, but has finished second in the Cup point standings five times.

Yet despite finishing second to the unbeatable Jimmie Johnson in the Chase last year, Martin’s greatest impact on the sport may be his racing philosophy, a wisdom which he imparts upon many young drivers in an unofficial role as a mentor and advisor.

They, in turn, spread his message of clean racing and give-and-take – meaning the “Mark Martin method” will likely outlast Martin’s personal career.

We say “likely” because although Martin announced this week he is leaving Hendrick Motorsports after the 2011 season to make room for Kasey Kahne, he has vowed not to retire anytime soon. And he’s in such remarkable physical shape that it’s not a stretch to imagine him racing at 60.

But therein lies an issue that has helped create a small but vocal anti-Martin contingent among fans: His similarity to Brett Favre.

If you’ve watched a race where Martin has finished in the top five, you’ve seen it: A TV reporter approaches Martin on pit road, and Martin always seems to say the same thing.

He loves his team. Loves crew chief Alan Gustafson. Loves Hendrick Motorsports. Loves the privilege of driving the No. 5 car.

And he says it time after time.

Somehow, that strikes some people as insincere, as if Martin is a phony, putting on a show.

Told of this, Martin leans back in his chair inside a near-empty ballroom in the bowels of the Civic Center, arms and legs crossed.

“I do say the same things,” he says. “Cause it’s the damn truth. Cause that’s what’s on my mind. When I climb out of the race car and I have just received one of the greatest privileges of a lifetime – to drive a frickin’ rocketship and work with the brightest people in the business – what do you think I’m going to say?”

Martin is only old from the neck up. And even then, he has some young tendencies.

“It’s a gift,” he says of what rappers can do with words. “I guess people say driving cars is a gift. I don’t think anything of it, it’s just something I do.”

Martin has yet to meet Gucci, but did once get rapper Bubba Sparxxx on the phone. The rapper and the driver “just shot the breeze,” Martin says.

The majority of the time, Martin plays rap to get him through the intense, grueling workouts that he does for hours a day, almost every day of the week.

But even if he has the body of a man 30 years younger, Martin can’t outrun all the trials that come with getting older.

Like sleeping problems.

Martin is so wired after a race that he can’t get his mind to shut off, despite being completely tired (particularly after night races).

“The adrenaline won’t let me shut down,” he says. “It’s pretty brutal on me. There’s a difference between exhausted and sleeping. I don’t sleep.”

And it’s not just after races, either. Martin has tried a variety of methods to help his sleep, but is most intrigued by the latest.

A headband called the “Zeo personal sleep coach” tracks an individual’s sleep patterns and offers data on the different types of sleep: Light, Deep and REM.

Martin can tell that the previous night, for example, it took him 18 minutes to fall asleep and he woke up eight times. He then can log in to the computer and study his results, trying different methods to improve his “sleep score.”

Zeo offers sleep specialists on the web who can work with customers to analyze the data, but Martin has no interest.

“I’m an independent guy,” he says. “I don’t like to be shown stuff, I like to do stuff, and do it by myself. I like to figure things out on my own.”

The fan event ends, and Martin has returned to the backseat of the SUV en route to the airport. As the car pulls through the gate of the private aviation terminal and onto the tarmac, Martin looks his company in the eyes.

“There’s gonna be haters,” he says softly. “Look, I don’t appeal to everyone. I’m a real simple person and you get what you get. I also am pretty complex, as you can see. Most people don’t know that. I’ve been rambling since we got in the car this morning. There’s plenty of stuff, plenty of color in me.”

And with that, he bids farewell and climbs from the car.

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Two days later, Martin’s public relations representative approaches with a twice-folded sheet of paper in her hand. It’s from Mark, she says.

It is a piece of fan mail from a volunteer firefighter in Maryland named William. In part, it reads:

“You always give thanks to the people who support you and always speak honestly from your heart, and that is how I try to live my life. You make everyone around you proud to be a part of your life whether being directly involved with you or just being a fan.

“You give so much more to your fans than just your racing. You and your family have in all actuality become part of our family, and I think you again for what you give us just by being a decent human being.”

The letter is touching throughout, and clearly heartfelt.

Later, Martin is found and thanked for sharing the letter. He motions toward the piece of paper.

“That,” he says, “is what I have to say about the haters.”